


All the Better to Eat You With

by Seraphtrevs



Category: Better Call Saul (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Biting, Choking, Face Slapping, M/M, Safe Insane and Consensual, Spanking, Who's afraid of the big bad wolf, fucked up fairy tales
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 11:28:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25349989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seraphtrevs/pseuds/Seraphtrevs
Summary: Nacho thinks of fairy tales again, not just of big bad wolves, but of beasts that transform into princes. He feels like if he can just figure out what story he’s in, he’ll know what to do next.Nacho plans to seduce Lalo to gain his trust, but things quickly get out of hand.
Relationships: Eduardo "Lalo" Salamanca/Ignacio "Nacho" Varga
Comments: 8
Kudos: 46
Collections: Lacho Week 2020





	All the Better to Eat You With

**Author's Note:**

> Written to accompany [the gorgeously sexy pic](https://krokorobin.tumblr.com/post/623910022585417729/lacho-week-day-5-domestic-im-super-excited-to) by the talented krokorobin! If my fic is even half as sexy, I'll consider it a success. ❤️️

__  
  


_Gain his confidence_ , Fring had said. _Make him rely on you._

Nacho had asked how, but really, he already knew. He’s known from the moment he and Lalo met in the kitchen, when Lalo’s eyes raked over him as he offered him food, like Hades offered Persephone those pomegranate seeds. _You’ll die,_ he’d said, his eyes shining.

Yeah, seems like that’s a distinct possibility, no matter what Nacho does.

But he’s not ready to die yet. Which means he needs to take a bite of what Lalo’s offering, after all.

***

The opportunity arises the next day, when Lalo asks him if he likes cars. “You know, not just to drive,” he says. “I mean to work on them—mess around.”

“Sure,” Nacho says.

Lalo looks pleased. “Yeah, you look like you’d be good with your hands.” He flashes him a smile. “So you want to come to the garage with me tomorrow—help me out?”

He frames it like a question, but it isn’t, really. But he doesn’t want to order Nacho. No, it isn’t enough to do as Lalo tells you—he wants you to _want_ to do it. Every command is a seduction. He’s all over you, patting you on the back, laying a hand on your shoulder, wrapping his arm around you as he pulls you in to whisper something.

When Nacho hesitates, Lalo’s smile grows wider, exposing his teeth. “There’s more to life than work, Varga! I promise it will be fun.”

“Sure.” He tries to sound like the idea appeals but doesn’t think he manages it. Then again, Lalo seems to enjoy his reluctance. After all, what fun is seduction if you catch your prey too quickly?

“ _Bueno!_ ” Lalo runs his tongue over his teeth. “I’ll pick you up around noon.”

Lalo arrives forty-five minutes late, pulling up to his house in a 1970 Monte Carlo. Nacho makes his way down the driveway, his head whirring. Is Lalo playing games, making him wait? Or is Nacho being paranoid? It’s so hard to tell anymore. Everything feels like a trap.

“Sorry I’m late,” Lalo says as he gets in the car. He doesn’t offer an explanation.

“No problem.” Nacho buckles his seatbelt.

Lalo puts his arm over the back of Nacho’s seat as he backs out of the driveway. In the enclosed space of the car, Lalo’s cologne smells stronger than usual—musky but with a citrus note, both dark and sweet. He turns to Nacho once they’re on the road. “So, you like my car?” he asks.

“This the one we’re going to work on?”

Lalo nods. “Thought I’d mess around with the carburetor, yeah?”

“Sure.”

Lalo steers with one hand, the other resting curled on his thigh. “You know, I feel like we got off on the wrong foot.”

An…apology? That’s the last thing Nacho expects, particularly when he isn’t even sure what the apology is for. “What do you mean?”

“How I surprised you when we first met. I wanted to see if they were right when they told me you were smart.” Lalo winks. “And they were.”

He doesn’t feel smart. Games upon games. What is he supposed to say? “What convinced you?”

“When I tried to make you eat, you refused. Only a fool eats what’s put in front of him without question.”

He’s looking at him like he expects a response. “You didn’t make it easy,” he finally says. “Those tacos smelled incredible.”

It’s the right thing to say. Lalo radiates satisfaction. “Maybe I’ll cook for you sometime.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” That might even be the truth.

There’s no one else there when they pull up to the garage. The owner is an _amigo de el cartel_ , no doubt happy to lend his property for the amusement of a cartel prince. Once they’re out of the car, Lalo claps his hands. “So! Let’s get right to it, yeah?”

They work for a little while. Sometimes Lalo chats, sometimes he doesn’t. But even when he’s not talking, his mouth is always up to something: chewing on sunflower seeds, whistling, singing. Nacho pictures that mouth on him, gobbling him down.

At last, Lalo shuts the car hood. “That ought to do it, I think! Want to go for a test drive?”

“Sure.”

Lalo brandishes his oily hands. “But first, we wash up!”

He likes to be neat, Nacho notes as Lalo carefully scrubs the grease from his hands. Not messy, like Tuco. Lalo’s easy-going—or at least, he wants to be seen that way. But he’s hands-on and wants things to be a certain way. When it’s his turn, Nacho makes sure to wash his hands as thoroughly as Lalo did.

After Nacho dries his hands, Lalo holds out the keys. “You want to go first?”

Nacho’s surprised. Is he supposed to refuse? “You sure you don’t want to?”

Something flashes in his eyes. “I want to see you drive.” He tosses the keys—Nacho barely catches them. “Come on, I know a place.”

Lalo directs him to an old, abandoned drag race track. Nacho pulls onto it and idles for a moment.

“What are you waiting for?” Lalo says, teeth bared in a smile. He gestures. “Come on, show me what you got!”

Nacho floors it. It seems to take Lalo by surprise, even though he ordered it, because he grabs onto his seat and lets out a startled yelp. Around and around they go. Nacho is in perfect control at all times. He’s an excellent driver. If only his control of his life was this total.

Eventually Lalo put his hand on Nacho’s knee. “Enough, man! I’m gonna be sick!” But he’s laughing.

Nacho comes to a gradual stop. Lalo hops out of the car. “What did I tell you? It’s running like a racehorse now!”

Nacho has no idea what that means, but he nods as he gets out the car too.

Lalo studies Nacho for a moment, his eyes more curious than scrutinizing. “You don’t smile much, do you, Ignacio?”

 _And you smile too_ _much_ , Nacho wants to retort, but doesn’t. He notes that he’s Ignacio now and wonders when was the exact moment he earned the upgrade.

A breeze wafts Lalo’s cologne over him. There’s an undercurrent of motor oil to it now. The two scents shouldn’t work together, but somehow they do. Lalo takes a few steps closer, until he’s in Nacho’s space. He pats him on the back, and his hand lingers. “I’ll drive you home.” His tongue swipes over his upper lip, like a wolf licking its chops. If Nacho had any doubts of Lalo’s desire before, they would have been quashed. 

Now or never. He tilts his head up. “How about you take me to your place instead?” he murmurs.

Lalo lets out a laugh, and for a heart-stopping moment, Nacho thinks he misread the situation. But then Lalo smiles lazily. “Is that really what you want?” His voice is just as dark and sweet as his smell.

Nacho almost laughs. What he wants hasn’t mattered in a long time. Instead of answering, he threads his fingers through Lalo’s thick salt-and-pepper hair and pulls him down for a kiss.

Lalo moans and kisses back, resting his hands on Nacho’s hips at first, then sliding them down to his ass as the kiss goes on. Lalo is the one to break away. “Careful Ignacio,” he says, breathless. “You keep kissing me like that and I’ll bend you over this car.”

Nacho’s heart races, but he can’t tell if it’s fear or desire, or some mixture of both.

Lalo chuckles. “As much as I would like to, I promised Tio I’d drop by later.” He leans in until his mouth is by Nacho’s ear. “But tell you what. I’m going to drop you off at home. You get yourself nice and clean for me.” He nibbles on his ear lobe, then pulls back and grins. “And then you come over for dinner.”

Nacho shivers. Is Lalo going to feed him, or is he the main course?

***

Nacho goes home and takes a long shower. He shaves, trims his nails, brushes his teeth, splashes on a little cologne. Afterward, he rifles through his closet and chooses his sluttiest shirt—a bright red button-down. He decides to forgo the undershirt—no point in being subtle. He squeezes into his tightest black jeans. His smaller gold chain and a couple leather bracelets complete the look. When he’s ready, he examines himself in the mirror, trying to see himself as Lalo will see him. He unbuttons two, and then three buttons on his shirt, so that his chest peeks out. He looks good.

How to play it? He bites his lip, dips his head and looks up through lowered lashes, even tries a smile, but shakes his head. No, if he plays it up too much, Lalo might get suspicious. Besides, he doesn’t think he can pull it off.

Not that he isn’t attracted to Lalo. It’s hard not to be—he’s so good-looking, and so insistent on charming you. Nacho hated himself a little for it, but now he’s glad. It will make things easier. But he can’t act playful. This is life or death, for him and his dad. He’ll just have to hope that intense will be enough for Lalo. Nacho is good at intense.

“You look nice,” Amber says from the couch as Nacho heads out the door. Jo is too fixated on her jigsaw puzzle to look up. “Going somewhere special?”

“No. Just dinner with the boss.”

She looks him up and down again, seeming a little skeptical. “You coming back tonight?”

Nacho rubs his forehead. “I don’t know. Probably not.”

She tilts her head. “Everything okay?”

He hesitates. What would they say if he told her the truth—that he’s off to fuck his boss? Would she be disgusted? Or maybe she’d be sympathetic, because isn’t something very similar happening between her and Jo and him? Nacho isn’t their boss—but he isn’t their boyfriend, either, not really.

Is he their Lalo? He wants to say no. But he can’t be sure.

He takes out his wallet and pulls out some twenties. “Want me to order delivery for you before I go?” he asks. “There’s that new Chinese place.”

“I can do it.” She holds out her hand, and Nacho gives her the money.

“Make sure she eats,” he says, indicating Jo with a nod of his head.

Nacho picks up a six-pack before heading over. He’s familiar with Lalo’s address—he’s been there before. It’s the house Hector was staying in. A queasy feeling churns in his stomach as he makes his way to the front door, the beer in one hand. He knocks, and the door falls open—it hadn’t been shut all the way.

“Come on in!” Lalo calls.

Nacho shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. He can do this.

The smell of spices and meat leads Nacho to the kitchen. Lalo’s at the stove, his back to Nacho. A radio plays some corrido and Lalo sings along. It reminds Nacho of the first time they met, Lalo crooning away as he worked at the grill. He even flashes the same surprised grin, even though he had just invited him in.

“There you are!” Lalo points his spatula at him. “On time again! You’re punctual. I like that.” His eyes light upon the beer. “Goodies? For me? You shouldn’t have.” He gestures with his head to the fridge. “Grab me one and put the others in the fridge.”

Nacho grabs two and puts the rest away. He opens the tops and hands one to Lalo.

Lalo accepts it and takes a sip. “This is good! Shouldn’t surprise me—you have good taste.”

Lalo turns back to the stove. “You are in for a treat. I made you my special recipe— _chiles en nogada._ I know it’s not the season for it, but I thought sweet and spicy would be good for a dinner with Nacho, eh? I got real _biznaga_!”

It does smell good, with the minced meat sizzling in the pan with onions, carrots, peas, raisins, and yeah, he can see the candied cactus too.

“Do me a favor and bring those chiles over,” Lalo says as he pokes the concoction with a spatula. “I could use some help.”

There’s a plate of poblano chiles, already roasted and peeled, on the counter. Nacho takes them to Lalo. Together, they plate and stuff the chiles. Lalo adds the creamy walnut sauce, and then—of course—a handful of pomegranate seeds. It feels like the universe is laughing at him.

They sit down and begin to eat. “My abuela used to make this when we’d visit,” Nacho says, and then mentally kicks himself. He doesn’t want to talk about family.

“Oh yeah?” Lalo asks. “Are you close?”

“She’s dead,” he says curtly.

“Sorry to hear it,” he says. It sounds sincere. “I learned all of my cooking from my abuelita, and fortunately she’s still with us. You’ll never guess where she lives.”

“Albuquerque.”

Lalo looks surprised for a moment, but then understanding dawns on him. “Of course you know that—you were Tuco’s man! He ever bring you over for dinner?”

“Sometimes, yeah.” Nacho likes their abuelita. It’s a mystery how such a sweet old lady spawned the Salamancas.

“I bet she likes you. She worries about Tuco—it was good for him to have you around. Everyone says so.”

Nacho isn’t sure how to respond. “Who’s everyone?”

Lalo waves his hand vaguely. “Oh, you know—the dealers who worked under you two. And Hector, of course. He likes you.” He rubs his mouth. “You know, I talked to Hector before his stroke. He said he was looking into using your dad’s shop for business.”

Nacho’s blood turns to ice. Not a seduction after all, but an interrogation—misdirect him, get him to relax, and then suss out the truth? He keeps his face like stone—years with Tuco helped him perfect his poker face.

Lalo’s looking at him expectantly—he doesn’t look hostile, exactly, but he’s serious. Nacho takes a drink to buy himself an extra few seconds. “Yeah,” he says. “We were talking about it.”

“And what did you think of that?”

Being a good liar is all about knowing when to strategically use the truth. This is one of those times. “I hated it. My dad is an honest man. I told him as much.”

Lalo studies him—his poker face is pretty good, too. “Lucky for you that Hector had a stroke, yeah?”

Nacho can’t flinch. If he does, it will all be over. Hector would have appreciated a good bootlicking in the same situation— _No patrón! I would never wish such a thing. My loyalty is to the Salamancas!_

But Lalo isn’t Hector. He decides to take a risk. “Yeah, it was. ‘Cause I would have never met you otherwise.”

Lalo blinks rapidly. For a heartbeat, Nacho thinks he’s made a huge mistake, but then he throws his head back and roars with laughter. “That is a hell of a pick-up line, Nachito.”

Nacho relaxes. He even manages a smile. “Did it work?”

Lalo gives an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders, and his eyes sparkle. “The night is young. And I think you are an exceptionally lucky guy.”

There are no more interrogations as they finish. Lalo chats—of course he does, but it’s harmless stuff. He asks Nacho what his favorite cars are, where in Mexico his family’s from, what food he likes best. It’s weirdly like any first date. Nacho plays along, but he’s only half there. Part of him is relieved by this sudden left turn into normality, but the other part of him is angry. This is a fun evening for Lalo—a way for him to relax. Meanwhile, Nacho is fighting for his life, and the life of his father.

What would have happened if Nacho had failed that little test he gave him? Would he have ended up like the man in the hotel that Lalo and his tio had reminisced so fondly about torturing? Either way, Lalo would have had a good time. It makes Nacho so angry that he’s sure it must show—how doesn’t Lalo notice? Or maybe he notices, but he just doesn’t care? Nobody ever asks a whore if she’s having a good time, after all.

Nacho drinks one beer, then another. At last, dinner is through. The table is cleared, and Lalo insists on the dishes being done right away. He flicks Nacho with the soapy water and laughs, those teeth of his on full display. So friendly, like the wolf at the start of a fairy tale. Except Nacho’s no innocent who was tricked onto the wrong path. His eyes have always been open. More the fool him, for knowingly walking into the wolf’s maw.

Lalo makes a pitcher of margaritas. Nacho has one, then two. As he drinks, he keeps thinking about wolves and fairy tales, heroes and villains. It dawns on him that fairy tale wolves usually meet bad ends. If Lalo gobbles him up, he can just cut his way out.

Maybe Lalo’s the one who ought to be afraid.

He excuses himself to use the bathroom, and afterward splashes water on his face and will himself to pull his shit together. His reflection in the bathroom mirror stares back at him accusingly, like it can’t believe that he got them into this mess. He schools his features into something more neutral before he leaves. Time to get this over with.

Lalo is in the living room, sitting on the couch with one arm stretched over the back. “There you are. Was starting to think you fell in.”

Nacho manages a smile. “Just cleaning up.”

He rakes his eyes over Nacho. "You look good in red."

“Thanks.” Lalo looks good too, in a blue button up rolled at the sleeves, a few buttons undone. His salt-and-pepper hair is tousled, and his dark eyes are sparkling. He’s actually exactly Nacho’s type. He likes his girls sweet, but his men powerful. Sometimes he’d go to gay clubs when he was tired of holding it together and look for an older guy to take charge, tell him what to do, maybe hurt him a little to break him out of the numbness that crept over him when he got too stressed. The last time had been right before he’d decided Tuco needed to go. That guy had a mustache, too. It’s been awhile since he’s indulged this side of himself. Maybe it won’t be so bad after all.

“I wanted you when I first saw you, but you didn’t seem interested,” Lalo says, his voice low and deep. “You are full of surprises, Ignacio Varga.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” he says before he can stop himself.

Lalo chuckles and pats the seat beside him. "Come here." As soon as Nacho sits, Lalo leans in for the kiss. Nacho wills himself to let go, to let Lalo devour him.

But he doesn’t. His kisses are sweet, gentle, and too damn slow. Nacho pushes him off and goes for his belt buckle, but Lalo bats his hand away. “What’s your hurry? We’ve got all night.”

Lalo resumes kissing him, leaning him back against the sofa until he’s on top of him. He takes his time, kissing his neck as he slowly unbuttons Nacho’s shirt and palms him through his jeans. At least he doesn’t have to worry about his body responding—he’s already hard, which is its own layer of fucked up.

Lalo helps him shrug out of his shirt and then it’s back to those soft kisses again. It’s maddening—he doesn’t want this to be gentle. Nacho shuts his eyes and balls his hands into fists.

Lalo pulls back and looks down at him with a frown. “You can relax, Ignacio. I’m not going to hurt you.”

The very last thing he needs is to be treated like some blushing virgin. When Lalo leans in again, he bites his lip, hard. Lalo pulls back with a cry. “ _¡Qué chingados, Ignacio!_ ” He puts a hand to his lip—Nacho had drawn blood. “What was that for?”

“What if I want it to hurt?” he asks, his chest heaving.

Lalo’s gaze turns dark, and a flush comes over his cheeks. “You really _are_ full of surprises.” He gets up and grabs Nacho by the wrist, hauling him to his feet. Nacho’s not exactly light—Lalo’s a lot stronger than he looks. “Can I hit you?” he asks.

Nacho swallows. “Yeah,” he says.

As soon as the word is out of his mouth, Lalo slaps him across the face, hard. “That’s for my lip, _puta_. Now get your ass to my room. I expect you to be naked and kneeling when I get there. Keep the lights off.”

Nacho’s cock throbs. This is what he needs—his life is a minefield he has to carefully navigate, tiptoeing lest he accidentally blow himself to pieces, never knowing which step will be the wrong one. It feels good to set one off, get rid of the anticipation. Let Lalo do his worst. Nacho can handle it.

It isn’t hard to find the bedroom. He takes off his shoes and jeans and gets onto his knees, shivering. Adrenaline pumps through him, mixing with arousal and the alcohol still buzzing in his system. He’s gone from reluctant to eager, his nerves ablaze.

Lalo makes him wait. Of course he does. It’s not pitch black—there’s still light coming in from the hallway. But it’s dark enough to play tricks on Nacho's mind, making the shadows into monsters. Just when the anticipation nearly overwhelms him, Lalo appears in the doorway. He prowls over to him slowly, then circles him. He’s carrying something behind his back. “So what is it, Ignacio? You been bad?”

He stifles hysterical laughter. “Yeah. Very bad.”

“What do you deserve?”

Nacho wets his lips. It’s hard to think. “What do you think I deserve?”

“Good answer.” He stops in front of him and Nacho’s finally able to make out what’s in his hands. A paddle. Of course he’s a kinky fuck. Did he bring that from Mexico, or was it something Don Hector kept around? Nacho clamps down on that line of thought.

“I think you deserve to be spanked.”

Nacho’s cock jumps. His tongue feels thick in his mouth so he just nods.

A low chuckle. He holds the paddle right in front of Nacho’s face. “Kiss it.”

Nacho presses his lips to the cool surface and looks up. His face is bathed in shadow; Nacho can’t tell what he’s thinking.

“Get up and bend over the bed.”

He gets to his feet and assumes the position, his face flushing. He starts when Lalo leans over him, covering him with his body, and presses his lips against his ear. “And what are you going to say if it gets too much for you?”

A safe word. Nacho thinks. “Wolf.”

At that, he laughs. “The boy who cried wolf? I like it.” He straightens. A moment later, Nacho feels the paddle caress his backside. “Now say, please, sir.”

Nacho grits his teeth. “Make me.”

Lalo laughs again. “So that’s how it’s going to be? Very well.”

The first hit is a tap on his ass, but it still makes Nacho jump. Annoyed with himself, he twists his fists in the bedspread and braces himself.

The next hit is more substantial, and makes a satisfying smacking noise. His erection, which had flagged, comes roaring back to life. At the next hit, he grinds himself against the bed.

Suddenly there’s an arm around his waist. “Uh-uh,” Lalo chides. “None of that until I say so.” He pulls him away from the edge of the bed, so that only his head and arms are resting on the bed while his cocks bobs helplessly in the air. Lalo waits for him to adjust before bringing the paddle down again.

“You ready to call me sir now?”

“Fuck you.”

The next hit is so hard he nearly loses his footing. So is the next one, and the next. His eyes water.

“I can do this all night, Ignacio. How much more can you take?”

“I can take anything you throw at me, you fucking asshole!”

The paddle stops. Lalo grabs Nacho’s chain and pulls on it, like a master pulling a dog’s collar. Nacho allows himself to be pulled up, turned around until they’re facing each other. He can see Lalo’s face now. His mouth is twisted in a feral grin. “You don’t know what I’m capable of, Nachito. You sure you don’t want to be a good boy for me instead?”

Nacho’s ass is on fire, his blood is screaming in his veins. It feels so good to bring this to the surface, to let loose what’s been simmering inside him. “Bite me,” he sneers.

Lalo pushes him backward, hard. Nacho falls on his back to the bed. Before he can orient himself, Lalo is on top of him, still fully clothes. Christ, he’s so much stronger than he looks. Lalo holds him down and bites Nacho’s shoulder.

Nacho shouts, not so much in pain as surprise. Lalo meets his gaze. “Like that?”

“Yeah,” Nacho breathes. He bares his throat.

Lalo snarls and sinks his teeth in, for real this time. Not hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough to bruise. He moves and does it again, and again, on his neck, his chest, everywhere, eating him up. Each bite brings a sting of pain followed by a rush of endorphins that sends his head spinning. His whole body is on fire; he’s so hard it hurts.

Lalo pulls back, panting. A string of bloody saliva runs from his mouth to Nacho’s chest. For a minute, Nacho thinks one of those bites broke the skin, but no, it’s Lalo’s lip that’s bleeding, from where Nacho bit him earlier. That sends a little thrill through him. Lalo wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and gives Nacho a feral smile, and then heads downward and swallows Nacho’s cock to the root in one, big gulp.

The shock of pleasure is so intense that Nacho’s back arches so hard he nearly levitates off the bed. Lalo put a firm hand on his hip, bringing him back down and holding him in place as continues to suck him. He’s relentless, and Nacho’s going to come. He tries to say something, tries to twist away, but his orgasm crashes over him with the sudden violence of an earthquake, leaving him trembling as Lalo sucks him through the aftershocks.

Lalo makes his way back up, licking his lips and looking extremely pleased with himself. “You taste good, Ignacio. I’ll have to have you for dinner more often.”

It’s probably supposed to be a joke, but Nacho’s too dazed to react. Lalo gets out of bed and leaves the room. He returns a moment later with a basket. He flicks the lights on. Nacho winces and squints as Lalo sits back down beside him. He first hands him a bottle of water. “Come on, Nachito. Drink up.”

He manages to sit up and takes the bottle. Lalo hands him two white pills. “Tylenol.”

Nacho just stares at them. Lalo laughs. “What, you think I’m trying to drug you? I’ve already had my wicked way with you, haven’t I?”

Duly chastened, Nacho takes the pills. By the time he drinks the whole bottle, he’s come mostly back to himself. He realizes that Lalo is still fully dressed—he hasn’t even taken off his shoes.

“Can I uh—” He clears his throat. “—do something for you?”

“Such nice manners!” Lalo picks up a brown bottle and a few cotton balls from the basket. “Let me see to those bites first. Then we’ll talk.”

Lalo inspects each bite carefully to ensure that he never broke the skin. He cleans each of them gently with the peroxide and puts a Band-Aid on one particularly deep bite. It’s so bizarrely tender—Nacho never would have expected this tenderness. He doesn’t want it, not from him, not when he knows that he’ll have to betray him. He hadn’t been tempted to use his safe word during their play, but he almost wants to use it now.

At last, Lalo is satisfied. He puts a hand on the back of Nacho’s head and pulls him into a gentle kiss. “Now that I’ve taken care of you, you can take care of me.” Lalo starts to unbutton his shirt.

As Nacho watches him undress, he hopes Lalo doesn’t want to fuck him. His ass is really sore. All he wants to do is curl up and go to sleep.

Lalo folds his clothes neatly and sets them aside, then gets into bed. His dick is enormous even at half-mast. He leans back against the pillow and strokes himself lazily. “You know, you aren’t the only one who likes things a little rough sometimes. I don’t get to indulge very often—it’s hard to find people to trust, you know?”

Nacho swallows. He trusts him? That should make him happy—hadn’t that been the whole goddamn point of this night? Instead, he just feels sick.

He shakes the feeling off. “What’s that?”

In response, Lalo takes one of Nacho’s hands and puts it on his throat. When Nacho catches on to what he wants, he flinches and draws his hand away.

“Oh come on,” Lalo says. “Don’t get shy on me now.” He grabs his hand again and puts it back. “You’ve got such big, strong hands. And don’t tell me you haven’t thought about wringing my neck—you think I don’t see the way you roll your eyes behind my back, but I do!”

Lalo roars with laughter as Nacho struggles to respond. “Come on,” he says, his voice gentle now. “We’ll do it real safe—I’ll tap on your arm if it’s too much, yeah?”

It shouldn’t bother him. Hadn’t he been burning with anger at him? But then there had been that tender care, and the soft look in his eyes that shines even now. He feels emotionally concussed.

Slowly, Nacho puts both hands around Lalo’s neck. Lalo sucks in a breath and starts to work his cock. “A little pressure at first,” he says. “I’ll tell you when I want more.”

Nacho presses down and Lalo’s breath gets a little more labored. His eyes flutter shut as his hand moves quicker. “ _Si_ ,” he moans. “ _Más!_ ” When Nacho squeezes a little, Lalo opens his eyes and gives him a stern look. “If I can still talk, you aren’t doing it hard enough.”

Nacho does as he’s told. The harder he squeezes, the more Lalo’s hips buck. His hand is a blur and he’s making horrible choking noises, but he doesn’t tap his arm so Nacho keeps up the pressure. Nacho realizes, dully, that if Fring ever orders him to kill Lalo, he won’t have any trouble. Lalo will put his throat in his hands and beg for it.

Lalo’s face is bright red and the noises are getting worse. Just when Nacho’s about to let go, Lalo suddenly spasms and his cock erupts, shooting rope after rope of pearly white come. Some of it lands on Nacho’s hand.

He releases Lalo, who sucks in air in huge gasps. He falls into a coughing fit.

“Are you okay?” Nacho asks, but Lalo waves him off.

“ _Si, si_ ,” he says hoarsely when he can talk again. He gives Nacho one of his wild smiles as he rubs his neck. “ _Muy fuerte, Nachito_! I’m going to have bruises.”

Nacho’s head is swimming, too many conflicting emotions roiling through him. He just wants to go home. He stumbles out of bed, looking around for his underwear and pants.

“What are you doing?” Lalo asks him from bed.

“Getting my clothes. I should go—”

“ _Pffft._ ” Lalo waves a hand. “Don’t be stupid. You aren’t in any shape to go anywhere. Get your ass back in bed.”

Nacho does as he’s told, because Lalo’s right. He can barely keep his eyes open.

Lalo pulls a wet nap from his little basket and wipes them both down. He yawns hugely and throws an arm around Nacho. Within minutes, he’s snoring. In spite of his turmoil, the pull of sleep is too strong for Nacho to resist, and soon he’s asleep too.

***

Nacho wakes up to the smell of bacon and eggs. He rubs his eyes, squinting as the sunlight hits his face. He’s sore everywhere, and his head is killing him. At first, he can’t remember where he is. Is Jo attempting to cook breakfast? Last time she tried that, she nearly burned the place down. But then a smooth baritone starts singing, and all at once he remembers where he is.

A few moments later, Lalo bursts into the room, holding a tray. He’s fully dressed in a short-sleeved green button down and jeans, looking as if he’s been up for hours. “Breakfast is served!” he says cheerily.

Nacho just stares at him. He’s getting breakfast in bed? No one has ever done that for him before.

Lalo motions at him to scooch over as he sits beside him. “My special breakfast tacos _por mi hombre fuerte_. Got to keep up that strength, yeah?”

Lalo picks up one of the tacos. For a moment, Nacho is afraid that he might try to feed him, so he picks one up too, even though his stomach is a little queasy. The queasiness vanishes with the first bite—it’s insanely good.

“How are you feeling?” Lalo asks.

Nacho finishes his taco and swallows. “Sore.”

Lalo laughs. “I’ll bet!” He runs a hand over his own neck, where blue bruises have bloomed. “That was some night, Nachito.”

No arguing with that. He looks down at his torso, covered in bitemarks. Christ, how is he going to explain this to the girls?

Lalo hands him a glass of water and two Tylenol. “Today, you’re going to take it easy. Let me spoil you.”

Spoil him? This is not how he imagined the morning after to go. “I really should go—”

“What, you got a job to get to?” He snickers. “Why don’t you call in sick? Your boss is a reasonable guy.” He leans in and lowers his voice. “Besides, I hear he has a crush on you—I’m sure he’ll let you off.” He kisses Nacho on the nose.

It’s too bizarre. The wolf has been transformed into a puppy dog. The sun streaming through the open window has transformed the dark cave of the previous night into a cozy bedroom.

Lalo finishes his taco and gets up. “You finish eating—I’m going to draw you a bath. Lavender okay with you?”

Nacho blinks. “What?”

“For your bath. I’ve got these bath bombs—you’ll die, they smell so good.” Humming to himself, Lalo disappears into the bathroom. A moment later, and the faucet turns on. “I hope you don’t mind, but I washed your clothes,” Lalo calls. “They’ll be done in another twenty mintues or so.”

Lalo Salamanca—doing his laundry and bringing him breakfast in bed. How domestic. It’s so bizarre that Nacho thinks for a moment he really has lost his mind. He thinks of fairy tales again, not just of big bad wolves, but of beasts that transform into princes. He feels like if he can just figure out what story he’s in, he’ll know what to do next.

But he doesn’t know. He suspects he won’t until he sees the end.


End file.
